


Vox's Office

by baileaves



Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: Anal Fingering, Electrocution, Forced to Watch, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Panic Attacks, Psychological Torture, Vomiting, coerced blowjobs, forced voyeur, ultimatum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baileaves/pseuds/baileaves
Summary: Vox had been inviting Ratchet to his office a lot lately, but not to talk. Today, Vox decides to take their meetings to a different level and things go from bad to worse for Ratchet
Relationships: Ratchet/Gleeman Vox
Kudos: 6





	Vox's Office

Ratchet took a deep breath, held it for a moment, before letting it out heavily. Without dallying any further, he pulled open the heavy wooden door. He slunk in just past the doorway, as the door fell back close behind with a click, sealing him in.

"You're late." Gleeman Vox said, turned away from him.

Ratchet stood on the opposite side of the room from Vox, his heart beating heavy in his chest. He really didn't want to be here. He had half a mind to bolt right back out of the media conglomerate's office.

Vox turned from the screen located at the far wall and absently shuffled through his desk. He pulled out some papers and flipped through them idly. Ratchet still stood stock still by the door, his feet suddenly felt bolted to the floor, refusing to budge.

Vox paused in his rummaging of paperwork, he glanced up at the hero with a frown.

"Don't make me wait now." Vox threatened in a low voice. Ratchet swallowed thickly, sweating all over. His hands grasped at nothing at his sides. He could sense the door behind him, as if it were slowly boring a hole into his skull. Every part of him was screaming to run, just turn back now and run as far away as he could.

Vox grabbed a pen and tapped it against his chin thoughtfully, as he looked over the work on his desk. After a moment, he glanced back up at Ratchet, back down to his work, then sighed. He put down his pen.

"Who do you think would be easier for me to replace? The science geek or the robot?"

Ratchet leapt forward at that, walking briskly toward Vox's desk.

"See, why do you always make this so difficult for yourself?" Vox chided.

When Ratchet approached the desk, Vox turned to him and pushed his chair backward. The hero got down on his knees and crawled into the space underneath Vox's desk. Vox shoved himself back forward into place, locking Ratchet in the darkened crevice. Ratchet took a deep breath, steadying his hands and got to work.

Vox's belt and fly were already undone and his hard-on was visible through the bulging fabric. Ratchet peeled back the cotton/spandex boxer briefs to expose the flesh. With his right hand he grasped the member and brought his lips to the tip. He swirled his tongue around it before taking the rest into his mouth. Ratchet let himself get lost in the motions, just doing what he needed to to get this all over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Vox was usually quiet for the most part when he was being forced to do this, which made it much easier for him to tune everything out. Ratchet let his eyes close as he let his mind wander back to the battlefield earlier that day.

Another ancient, forgotten temple that served as a backdrop to another gauntlet of doom. Running around through maze-like passageways and avoiding a gruesome, televised death. Ratchet would admit, it wasn't so bad. Shooting down brainless bots and baddies was a favourite pastime of his. Causing a cataclysm of carnage, with an arsenal of suped up toys, for a crowd of adoring onlookers, was like a dream. But it didn't take him long to realize that it was just that: a dream. And that dream had quickly spiraled into a full blown nightmare. The first time Vox had called him into his office felt like ages ago. When, in fact, it had probably been only roughly a week ago. He'd forced himself on him, pulled down his pants and instructed Ratchet exactly how he should do it. He tried to refuse, to fight back, but he had threatened his team members, his friends. If anything were to happen to Clank or Al, Ratchet wasn't sure if he would ever be able to forgive himself.

Ratchet was pulled back to the present when he heard Vox's secretary announce he had a visitor coming to his office. Vox quickly gave the order to send them in, and Ratchet cringed to himself. He hated when Gleeman would do this. Sometimes he would have full meetings with other bigwigs and Ratchet would be forced to sit there, and keep going hoping they wouldn't notice him there. He knew Vox got off on it, the added risk of being caught. He could feel him twitch in excitement at the very idea. In fact, Ratchet swore he seemed even more excited than usual. He felt Gleeman's toes curl in anticipation, as he himself felt dread. He was probably going to keep him there for awhile and let him suffer. The uncertain dread made him nauseous.

After a short while, Ratchet heard the click of the wooden door close, and Vox's excitement was palpable.

"Come in, gentlemen, have a seat. We have important business to discuss!" Vox said jovially. There were more than one set of footsteps approaching the desk. At least one of them was a robot, he could hear from the whirling noise as they walked. Whoever they were, Ratchet prayed today wasn't the day he was noticed.

"As you know, The Vox network supplies a roster of high quality shows that entertain the whole family. I make it my personal duty to make sure our entire catalogue meets the utmost in standards"

Ratchet rolled his eyes; most of Gleeman's meetings started like this. Him showboating about how 'great' his network was, and how he built it from the ground up with his own two hands. Blah, blah, blah. All of that over done commercial garbage that had been stripped of real meaning by studio exec's decades ago. Ratchet began to tune him out, he was probably just buttering up some potential shareholders into giving him some more blood money.

"But unfortunately it isn't always so easy," Vox continued.

"My network is only as good as my weakest link, and it has come to my attention that a member on your team isn't exactly giving it their all."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"What exactly are you getting at?"

Ratchet froze, that voice… it was…

"Team Dark star has been extremely popular with audiences, don't get me wrong, but it's the behind the scenes that has become an issue." Vox said, his voice dripping with malice. Ratchet felt a hand at his face, urging him to continue. He didn't though, he couldn't. Not now, not when they were here.

"I do not understand. We have done everything you have asked us. What is the issue?" Asked Clank.

"The issue," said Vox "is your star player. He hasn't been cooperating with me as well as he should."

Ratchet suddenly realized what Vox was getting at, and launched himself back into his task. Moving his tongue and pumping his hand, trying to wring as much pleasure as he could from the tyrant. He worked the organ with all that he had, feeling up Vox's legs apologizing, begging, pleading.

"Please, please don't do this," Ratchet silently begged, rubbing a hand along Gleeman's inner thigh.

"I'll do whatever you say, I won't fight you anymore. Just don't do this!"

"Ratchet? What's wrong with Ratchet?" Inquired Al.

A hand gripped Ratchet by the back of the head and ripped him away. He gasped loudly.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?!"

Vox roared and stood suddenly, hauling Ratchet up with him. His form now poked over the edge of the desk and he could hear the gasps of shock from his friends. They could see his pants for breath, the fluid that dripped from his chin.

He turned his gaze to the floor.

He didn't dare look at them.

"All you had to do was be a good boy, Ratchet, and this could have been avoided." Vox snarled at him.

"What have you done?!" Clank exclaimed.

"Not much," Vox shrugged

"I thought he could handle at least a simple blowjob, but even that seems to be too complicated!"

Vox hauled the lombax up to his face, baring his teeth.

"Time and time again, you seem to forget your place around here, hero. Today, I make good on my promise."

Ratchet was slammed on top of the desk, his chin smacking hard against the wood. He winced as Vox grabbed the back of his head and angled it up at his friends.

"You are going to watch them while I fuck you." Vox hissed in his ear. He sounded breathless. Ratchet felt breathless too.

He was forced to finally look at his friends. Al's hands were clasped tightly over his mouth. His eyes wide in shock and horror. Clank sat stock still, his fists tightly balled at his sides. He glared at Vox with the icyest look he had ever seen on the little robot's face.

Clank's gaze then turned to him and Ratchet's lip quivered. The way his best friend looked to him with so much concern and grief, it was more painful than any bullet. He needed to stay strong for them. He couldn't help feeling responsible for them being here. He needed to protect them.

"I-I'm okay, pal," Ratchet rasped. He could hear as Vox fiddled with removing his armour.

"I'll be okay."

"That's right," Gleeman said, leaning over Ratchet.

"Everything will be just peachy, as long as your little lombax friend does exactly what I say."

Vox chuckled and planted a kiss on his neck. Ratchet couldn't help the shudder that ran through his body.

It didn't take long for Vox to remove Ratchet's armour. He now lay in just his undershirt and boxers. Vox roughly grabbed his ass. Ratchet bit his lip as he rubbed and grasped at his cheeks. Gleeman began grinding against his ass as well. He could feel his hard-on even through the layers of clothing. Ratchet braced himself, waiting for Vox to pull his underwear down and take things further. But Gleeman suddenly pulled away.

"Sit up." Gleeman demanded.

Ratchet blinked at him in confusion, as Gleeman opened a desk drawer and rifled through it. Ratchet did as commanded of him and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Once he was seated on the desk, Gleeman slammed down something next to him. Ratchet turned to look and felt his stomach drop. It was lube.

Gleeman wrapped an arm around Ratchet who glared at him quietly. He cradled his cheek gently and leaned in close. Gleeman's eyes fluttered half close.

"Now," Gleeman hummed intimately.

"I want you to finger yourself."

Ratchet's eyes widened for a moment before falling back into an angry scowl. Gleeman just smiled at him, rubbing his face before removing his hand. He sat back in his chair leisurely and waited.

Ratchet chewed his lower lip, and stared hard at the bottle. His brain quickly filled with static, like it was shutting down. He couldn't do this. A quickie under the desk was leagues away from touching himself. Did Gleeman expect him to actually get off? He wasn't even sure how he was supposed to do it. He had experimented maybe once or twice with this sort of thing, but it had never gotten any further than that.

"Ratchet." Gleeman barked.

Ratchet jerked, coming back to reality. He looked over at Vox. He had the death collar remote in his hand. He gave it a little wave in warning. Ratchet swallowed hard and glanced over towards his friends, reminding himself what was at stake. He didn't look them in the eye.

He grabbed the back of his tank top and slid it over his head. He tossed it to the side where his armour was piled by. He reached for his waistband and slid it over his thighs. Sitting on his butt, he pulled the fabric out from each leg and tossed that aside too. He took a moment to try and find a position and get comfortable. He finally settled with one leg bent underneath him and the other bent so his foot was flat on the desk. He reached over, grabbed the bottle, and opened it with a click. He wasn't sure how much he would need so he poured a generous amount onto his fingers. He propped himself up with his left hand, before reaching underneath himself. He probed at his hole unassuredly. Using his middle finger, he traced the ring of muscle, smearing lubrication with it. Slowly he began to wiggle his finger inside. As he pushed deeper inside he gave a few exploratory flexes of the digit. It felt strange, but not wholly awful. He focused on pumping it inside himself, letting his other finger occasionally nudge up against his hole as well. He focused, trying to forget where he was, but not allow himself to completely forget who was watching. Aware yet unaware, staying in this limbo state so he wouldn't freeze up in fear or break down completely. He was teetering right on that razor thin edge. He pressed two fingers inside himself now, brushing carefully against his prostate. He bit his lip, as sweat lined his brow. He didn't touch his semi-hardened dick. Vox hadn't asked him to, and he really didn't want to be doing anything more than what was asked of him.

Just then a hand seized his wrist, and Ratchet gasped as his fingers were abruptly pulled away.

"Good boy. Are you ready for me?" Gleeman said huskily. He grabbed Ratchet and moved him back to laying on his stomach. Vox was already pushing himself inside of him. A keening noise emitted from the back of Ratchet's throat, as Vox quickly filled him. Ratchet quickly put a hand to his mouth to stifle any more noises.

"You did a good job Ratchet, I slid right in," Vox commented as he began to fuck him.

"You feel so nice and tight, so much better than just a blowjob."

Ratchet shut his eyes, both hands covering his mouth. Wayward gasps and grunts could still be heard from behind them. Expulsions of air slipping through the cracks between his fingers. It was all so uncomfortable. Vox was so disgusting and heinous, raping and blackmailing his contestants was only one of the things on his laundry list of misdeeds. But the most unbearable thing to Ratchet, the thing that made him feel loathing in the deepest pit of his stomach, was that there was a part of him that liked this. It was strictly biological, a deep-seeded piece of his evolutionary structure that kept his population growing, but it killed him nonetheless. Everytime his cock would twitch, or Vox would hit that spot in just the right way, it made Ratchet sick. He could only feel sick and guilty. Guilty from being able to feel any sort of pleasure in such a horrible circumstance, and guilty, once again for having his friends here. For having involuntarily wrapped them up in this whole mess. He glanced at Clank, still glued to his chair. He knew what he would say: it wasn't his fault, it was Vox and those who chose to do his bidding. But he couldn't help his feelings anyway. He just wanted to disappear. Just get himself as far away as he could from anyone else he could possibly hurt and get mixed up in his business. He didn't want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.

"You know, Ratchet, I've been thinking about something," Vox purred.

"I said I would live up to my word, and so far that hasn't been entirely true. There's something I've completely ignored."

Vox slowed down his thrusts. That should have been a relief, but the way Vox was talking, it only served to distress Ratchet further.

"Now, I have my guesses on what you'll pick, but then again, I could be wrong. I warned you about this before, so I hope you've put some thought into it." Vox said, before leaning in close to the lombax. He grabbed his head once again, and cranned it at his pals. Vox brought himself right up into Ratchet's ear, speaking just loud enough so the others could hear.

"One of these two won't be leaving this room today, which one will it be?"

Ratchet stopped breathing.

"What?" The word tumbled out, as if it were a leaf being carried by a gentle breeze.

Al and Clank looked to each other in terror.

"Which one do I kill?" Vox said simply.

There was a horrible deafening silence. No one moved. No one made a sound. It was as if, in an instant, all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Ratchet's mouth floundered on a single word. His lips forming the syllables, but his lungs unable to give the statement life. Finally, he choked up enough air to make a single audible sound.

"No…"

"No." Ratchet said again, summoning the effort to further announce his decry.

"No!" A final, forceful projection of voice. His tone frenzied but firm. Sorrowful but angry.

"No! No! No!" He screamed again and again, intending to keep on insisting until his throat ran raw and there was no more breath in his lungs. As if his command alone could keep back the inevitable. That as long as he kept rejecting fate, it would never have the chance to catch up to him.

Ratchet's incantation was cut short when a hand was suddenly wrapped around his throat. He was hauled up, so his back was flush with Vox. Another hand went over his mouth as Vox leaned over his shoulder. Ratchet's hands scrambled at the restraints, clawing in a panicked frenzy to release himself. But the lack of air quickly had him slowing down. His cries dying off into subdued muttering.

"Shh… easy now." Gleeman murmured. There was a slight tremble to his voice, as well as something else. Ratchet could feel Vox's cock twitch inside him. The sick bastard was actually getting off on this. Ratchet's head throbbed as angry, disgusted and fearful tears welled in his eyes.

"Sometimes in this business, you need to make difficult decisions," Vox said in a soft voice, as if comforting a child.

He suddenly threw Ratchet back down at the desk with a grunt.

"Now, give me a name or I kill them both."

Ratchet looked up at his friends, they sported looks similar to his own: fear, despair, and grief. Ratchet's lower lip trembled as tears began to roll down his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The words tumbled from his mouth, before his eyes drifted down to the carpet.

"Al."

The air was instantly tinged with electricity, as a sharp scream filled the air. Clank and Al jumped to their feet. Ratchet lay screaming and writhing in pain. He grabbed at the collar around his neck to gain some sort of relief from the bombardment of agony. Clank called his name in alarm

Then, just as suddenly, the pain was gone. Ratchet lay gasping for air, when a barking laugh filled the room.

"How could you?! You evil, disgusting, manipulative…" Clank yelled at Gleeman, rage overtaking the tiny robot.

"Easy there, tin can," Vox warned "Or I might just follow through with Ratchet's suggestion!"

Vox let out another howling laugh. Clank balled his fists in a shaking rage, as Al put a tentative hand to his shoulder to try and calm him. The touch instantly grounded him, and he changed his concern back to Ratchet.

Ratchet's hands were clasped over his mouth, his eyes were wide as he hiccuped sobs.

"Ratchet." Clank said softly, reaching out a hand. Vox quickly grabbed the lombax and hauled him back out of reach.

"Well, we've had a lot of fun tonight haven't we?" Vox smiled.

"A very productive and eye opening meeting if you ask me. I hope you're wholly satisfied in your choice today Ratchet, we may come to revisit it at a later date."

Another sob tore through Ratchet, and Vox revelled in it.

"Let's say we wrap this thing up." Vox pushed himself back into Ratchet and began fucking him mercilessly. Vox gripped the hero's thighs hard enough to bruise as Ratchet fell forward onto the desk. He couldn't stifle his noises any further. He needed his arms to keep himself propped up on the desk or risk smashing his face into the hardwood with each hard thrust from Vox. All Ratchet could do was cry out at the pain. All the psychological and physical pain he had to endure. His vocal cords straining as he could only scream between wayward sobs. Thankfully, it didn't last long, Vox had been just on the cusp for so long. He finished with a growling cry, his fingers digging in and leaving bloody trail marks in their wake. He gave a few last, sharp thrusts before slumping forward. He heaved gasping for breath along with his victim. Clank and Al could only glare angry daggers at him. Completely powerless as they had just watched their friend be broken and tormented. After the chorus of laboured breathing had died down, Vox let out a sigh and rubbed the sweat from his brow. He pulled out, wiped his cock on the back of Ratchet's thigh and put himself back in his pants. He quickly righted himself, adjusting his suit jacket and smoothing the wrinkles in his pants. He walked around the desk and faced his two imprisoned associates.

"You have ten minutes to get your shit and get out of here. If you're not out of here by then, then I'll have no problem going for a round two."

Al and Clank watched as Gleeman casually strolled across the office and out the door. Neither moved until they heard the ensuing click of the door shut.

They were immediately by Ratchet's side. Ratchet had curled himself into a ball on his side. His sobs had quieted down to the occasional stuttering breath. Clank hopped up onto the desk and grabbed his friend's hand, caressing it tenderly. Al stood awkwardly wringing his hands.

"Al, may I have your lab coat?" Clank asked, making the man jump slightly. Al paused, before doing what was asked of him and handed over the coat. Clank carefully laid it over Ratchet like a blanket.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Ratchet began to mutter.

"It is alright, Ratchet. It is over now," Clank said softly, continuing to comfort him.

"Are you able to stand up?"

Carefully, Ratchet pulled himself from his position on the desk and delicately placed his feet on the floor, as if testing the temperature of a pool. He pulled the lab coat tightly around his form, as he finally stood, shaking slightly. He moved to grab his clothes.

"Will you be needing any assistance?" Clank asked.

A sob threatened to undo him, then and there. But Ratchet swallowed it. There would be time later to grieve. It may have been over for now, but they still weren't completely through it yet.

Ratchet shook his head in reply to Clank, and quickly went through the motions of redressing himself. After a few minutes, Ratchet was once again resuited and returned Al his coat. Then, after another few minutes, all three had boarded the shuttle to return them to their domicile. The shuttle ride lasted as long as a blink of an eye, and before they knew it, they were back at their commode. Once they got in, Ratchet immediately collapsed on the sofa.

His eyes were so sore, his throat ached and all he wanted to do was sleep. Clank and Al sat near him, he glanced up to see the same exhausted look on their faces.

"Ratchet, maybe you should go to bed." Clank suggested after a moment.

But he couldn't, he was so overtired and overwhelmed. His mind raced as it tried to shift through everything that had happened tonight. But he didn't want to think about it. He had tried to push it back, come back to it later when he had more time and energy. But he couldn't hold back the crushing wave of it. His brain was vehement on focusing on it, drudging up pieces of the excursion and flashing them back at him, like stills from a horror movie.

How could his friends still be sitting near him after what he had done? What they had seen? How could he ever look them in the eye again knowing what they had seen done to him? How could they ever look at him again without remembering him like that? Especially Al, after he had sold him out like that. He probably despised him now! He probably hated his guts and wished he'd never met him in the first place! And what about Clank? He had seen first hand some of the shitty things he had done, but selling out his own teammate? He had no choice. But his defiance against Vox was what started this whole thing! But he never meant to drag them into this. But he did anyway. But he never meant to…

Ratchet sat up quickly, his stomach heaving him to his feet. He ran to the bathroom as fast as he could, and gagged into the toilet. His stomach contents came flooding back up and so did his tears. He choked for air between gags and sobs as he clung tightly to the bowl. Finally, after a last bout of dry heaves, his breathing had steadied back into a somewhat normal rhythm. Now his throat really hurt, and he was uncomfortably sticky with the cold sweat he had broken into. He also became aware of someone rubbing his back.

Ratchet turned his head and lay it on the edge of the seat. He could see that it was Clank. He was muttering comforting words to him. Al stood off to the side rubbing his arm nervously, before moving to the sink. He wet a small towel, before handing it to Clank, who gently placed it on the back of his neck. Ratchet sighed, the cool cloth soothing on his clammy skin. He took a moment to relish in it. He listened to Clank's words as the water tempered his flesh. It was the first time he had felt real comfort in a long time. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He was still alive. Despite everything, they were all still alive. Ratchet reopened his eyes and looked to Al and Clank.

"Do you guys hate me?" He whispered.

Clank was shocked, Al looked even more upset then before.

"Why would we hate you?" Clank asked.

"I mean, really, after everything that's happened?" Ratchet said.

"But none of this is your fault, Ratchet." Clank said.

"I know, I know," Ratchet murmured into the bowl.

"But you guys can't say if it weren't for me you wouldn't be here right now."

"I do not and can not blame you for anything that has happened Ratchet. This has all been completely out of your control." Said Clank.

"Still…" Ratchet sighed. He glanced at Al who was fiddling with the end of his coat anxiously.

"What about you, Al? After what happened in there, how I basically…" Ratchet bit his lip.

"How I basically left you for dead."

Al looked over to Ratchet, he met his eye for a moment before letting out a long sigh. He dropped his coat and ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't hate you," Al said.

"Honestly, if I was in your position I might have done worse. I am angry though, but not at you. This whole thing is just so fucked up, I don't know what to do." Al nervously bit at his thumb. Ratchet and Clank could see just how deep in thought Al was. Clearly something had been on his mind since Vox had finally taken himself out of the picture. An answer finally seemed to make itself known in Al's head, as his look and demeanor changed completely. He brought himself in close to the other two, and lowered his voice.

"I think I've figured out a way for us to get out of here." Al glanced around quickly to check if some else could be eavesdropping. Clank and Ratchet gazed at him attentively, waiting for him to continue.

"It was sort of a plan B. It's kind of dangerous and it was only if I didn't manage to get the collars off in time. But I guess we don't really have any time left now, do we?"

"What is it?" Ratchet asked.

"The shuttle to the battle dome, I think I could rewire it and send it to the security mainframe. You would sneak in and deactivate all the security measures keeping us in here: the force fields, death collars, security locks."

"How soon can you do it?" Ratchet probed.

"If there aren't any hiccups, I can get it done in an hour, two hours tops."

"Alright" Ratchet nodded his head. He held it up higher, a look of determination and spirit manifesting itself in his eyes. Clank smiled squeezing his hand, the real Ratchet ready to bounce back to his proper self.

"Tomorrow morning." Ratchet declared.

"Tomorrow morning, we're getting out of here."

**Author's Note:**

> Back at my old stomping grounds with a real doozy. Initially, I was aiming for my usual 1000-2000 word length, but I was on such a roll I ended up over double that! Have a Merry Christmas everyone and a safe and happy new year!


End file.
